


An Unconventional Affair

by Sproid



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Clothing Adventures, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Mounties doing emotions, Snuggling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sproid/pseuds/Sproid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How to further a relationship in five never-to-be-repeated steps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unconventional Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linguini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguini/gifts).



> References to Meg/Fraser interactions from 'All the Queen's Horses' and 'Mountie on the Bounty'.
> 
> I'm not Canadian, so I apologise for anything that I've got wrong in this. Feel free to correct my mistakes.

**1) Follow-the-leader**

The next time she saw Fraser still in uniform well after hours, Meg decided, she was damn well going to leave him to go off on his foolhardy adventures alone. 

Never again would she make the mistake of stepping into his office and enquiring what he was up to. Down that path lay explanations about the tendency of small-time smugglers to slip through the net of the Chicago PD, the tip-off Fraser had received about the activities of one such group tonight, and how he intended to catch them in the act. For reasons she could not now recall, Meg had agreed to accompany him. Now the two of them were currently blindfolded and tied together back-to-back in a very cold, very damp cave, somewhere along a river several miles outside of Chicago.

Fraser’s company notwithstanding, there were almost an infinite number of ways Meg would rather be spending her evening.

Something wet nudged against her wrists, and Meg very determinedly did not jump. “Fraser,” she said sternly, “Would you mind telling your wolf that now is not the time to be looking for a treat?”

“He’s well aware of that, sir,” Fraser replied, sounding as calm as Meg was attempting to be. “I think he’s trying to loosen the knots.”

“I would rather he left it to the humans, if it’s all the same to him.”

Apologetically, Fraser said, “Well, I’d tell him that, only-”

“He’s deaf. I know.” Meg sighed. “We’d better get on with it then and hope he doesn’t get in the way.”

Between the three of them, they managed to get the ropes off, followed by the blindfolds, which turned out to be completely unnecessary given that it was pitch black in the cave. Their flashlights were, of course, long gone with the smugglers, and it turned out that Fraser’s matches had met their end when they’d waded through the water to get into the cave system. While Meg’s cell-phone had been left, and was still in working order, there was absolutely no chance of getting a call through while they were still down here.

“Wonderful,” Meg said into the darkness. “Now what?”

“Well, I suggest we try and catch up with our captors, or at least warn the authorities, before they get too far,” Fraser said. The echoing of his footsteps indicated his movement away from her. Meg followed hastily before he could get too far, and refrained from asking him exactly how he planned to do that. 

Instead she concentrated as best she could on where she was going, although with her only means of navigation being the clicks of Fraser’s boots in front of her, it wasn’t easy. She found herself walking into rocks, tripping over rises, stumbling into dips every few steps. Annoyingly, Fraser seemed to be having so such problems, as sure-footed down here as he ever was. 

After banging her nose against an outcrop that had no right to be at face-level, Meg stopped in her tracks, and decided that enough was enough.

To Fraser’s credit, he barely hesitated when Meg instructed that he give her his hand, and they resumed their onwards journey after the bare minimum of fumbling in the dark to find each other. Meg felt somewhat foolish trailing behind Fraser like a four-year old on her first midnight walk, but at least now the only thing she could possibly walk into was his back.

“How can you possibly see where you’re going anyway?” she muttered irritably. “Have you been eating double helpings of Turnbull’s carrot cake?”

“Oh, no,” Fraser replied. “Well, yes, actually,” he amended a moment later. “I am rather partial to carrot cake, but the myth about carrots helping one see in the dark is just that. In fact, the misconception arises from -”

Meg cut him off, which was rude, but not as rude as it would be to give in to the urge to trip him up. “I’m know very well where that tale comes from, Fraser. What I don’t know is how it is that you’re not falling over every - ouch!” Meg hissed as she bashed her ankle against a rock, and let loose a few choice expletives that she could _feel_ Fraser ignoring. Through gritted teeth, limping determinedly onwards, she finished, “falling over every damn thing in this place.”

“Oh, that’s easy. I’m holding onto Diefenbaker’s tail.”

There was silence as Meg imagined the image that the three of them must currently make, while Fraser continued to lead the way, his hand tightening around hers to lead them around what were presumably more rocks waiting to ambush Meg.

“Fraser,” she asked a moment later. “How does _Diefenbaker_ know where we’re going? In the larger scheme of things, regarding the exit to these caves, specifically.”

“I have to admit, I’ve been wondering the same thing. I suspect he’s following fresh air, but I don’t like to ask. He gets offended if he thinks I’m questioning his judgement.”

That did, Meg had to concede, make a certain amount of sense. Apart from the bit about Diefenbaker caring what Fraser thought, of course. That wolf was a law unto itself.

They made it to the outside world eventually, where the light from the full moon was momentarily blinding to not-yet adjusted eyes. When they could see again, they found themselves halfway up a bluff, a fast flowing river fifty feet below, on the other side of which lay a forest that covered the ground for as far as they could see. Meg realised that Fraser’s hand was still wrapped warmly around hers, but couldn’t bring herself to draw attention to it. Miles outside of Chicago, surrounded by nothing but the sounds and sights of the natural world, she let herself indulge for just a moment.

Diefenbaker wandered away, making his way up a ledge just wide enough for two paws to step on, and lay down at the top with his nose at the edge. Stillness broken, Meg and Fraser let their grasps loosen, and took a silent step away from each other.

With a cough, Fraser said, “We can probably use your cell phone to warn the authorities now that we’re out.”

He stepped away while Meg made the calls; one to Welsh, to inform him of the situation, and another to request that someone come and rescue them. When she was done, she joined Fraser where he was seated as far back as possible from the edge over which the wind was whistling, and they settled down to wait. 

Confronted with the small stretch of rock available to them, their briefly established distance didn’t last long. They they ended up huddled close together, collars and knees drawn up, pressed warmly together from shoulders to toes with the chill of the night around them.

“Do you ever miss the Moon?” Meg asked quietly.

It was a foolish question, because it was right there for both of them to see, and it wasn't the Moon she missed so much as being able to see the Toronto skyline below it. She saw Fraser's hand tighten where it rested on his thigh though, searching for something it no longer had, and he shook his head when she looked at him.

“No,” he replied. “I miss the sky. The Moon reminds me that it’s out there, somewhere.”

His voice, steady but quiet, echoed the longing for home that Meg was having trouble ignoring tonight. The Canada they missed might not be the same, but their feelings for it were.

Slowly, she tilted her head to rest against his shoulder, all she could do to indicate that he was not alone. To give words to it would be a mistake, more embarrassing than comforting, and in any case what could either of them say?

For a moment Fraser was entirely tense and unmoving next to her, but then Meg felt his cheek come to rest against the top of her head, and a long breath outwards ruffled through her hair. His shoulder loosened and he let himself lean on her, just slightly. On his thigh, his hand turned over, then reached out to her, palm-up and fingers extended. He waited for Meg to place hers in it, then folded his fingers around hers, and drew it back to tuck between his stomach and drawn-up legs, offering her comfort as silently as she given it to him.

When the Moon had travelled across the sky, shifting the shadows and intensifying the bright spots, Fraser spoke again. “Nights like this remind me of home.”

Keeping her hand tight around his, Meg drew back to look at him. The wistful lines of his face were highlighted by the white light making its way down to them, and she wasn’t entirely sure what to say to make them fade away.

“You mean, nights on which you and your partner have been foiled by smugglers in possession of fifteen thousand dollars worth of illegally obtained otter furs, and are stuck in a cave system waiting to be rescued by the nation’s smallest coast-guard team? On a night when neither of us were actually supposed to be working at all?”

Fraser’s mouth flickered into a brief smile. “That wasn’t quite what I meant.”

“I know,” Meg said. Her own homesickness was fading into the background where she usually kept it, but there was still a hint of it in Fraser’s expression. Raising her head up, she kissed his cheek, and murmured, “And I do know what you meant about home.”

When she drew back, Fraser turned to look at her with a not-quite-hidden longing on his face that wasn’t all for the country they were so far away from. He looked away when he realised that Meg has noticed, started to pull his hands off hers, and then looked back in surprise when Meg tightened her grip. Not enough to hold him there if he didn’t want to, but enough to say that he didn’t have to let go either.

“Last time,” Fraser said, “You said - I mean - I understood -” He trailed off, confusion and hesitance in his eyes, that Meg knew she was responsible for and wished she was not.

“I said that what happened between us could never repeat itself unless the exact same set of circumstances were to occur. I know.”

“Then...”

“I failed to take into account that there might be times when an exception is appropriate. Should you wish there to be an exception, of course.” No matter how lonely and homesick they both might be, she was not going to take advantage of the situation if Fraser did not wish to. “Otherwise-”

Fraser moved closer, and lifted one hand to curve around the side of her face, closing his eyes when Meg copied his motion. “Please,” he whispered, and then they were leaning towards each other, even though Meg knew it was going to make things that much harder - that much lonelier - later. In the moment though, it was right, warm palms against cold cheeks, fingers laced together, so Meg let it go, and they kissed under the light of a Moon that wasn’t quite theirs.

**2) Injury obtained in the line of duty - or falling down a slide**

The hum of the zipwire alerted Meg, a little too late, to the arrival of the man she’d lost in the crazy-mirror corridor a few minutes ago. She turned around just in time to see him land, his momentum carrying him towards her, and just had time to get out, “Oh, damn,” before he was barrelling into her, forcing her to stumble backwards towards the three-floor drop-slide behind her. 

Attempting to avoid the fall was futile, so Meg went for the next best thing; if she was going down, so was he. Kicking out at his knees before she went over the edge, she caught at his trouser-leg just before she fell, and hoped that would be enough to bring him with her.

The trip downwards was unpleasant, to say the least, her shoes catching on the plastic and putting her more off-balance than she’d already been. She didn’t so much slide in the recommended fashion, as tumble and roll, hitting what felt like every limb in the process. It was pure luck that she didn’t hit her head on anything, but that was the only leeway she got. Landing in the ballpit at the bottom, she was aware of her right arm ablaze with the familiar pain of a break, and a throbbing in her left ankle that was going to get worse before it got better.

As dizzy and bruised as she was, she heard the sounds of her pursuer headed down afterwards, and pushed herself to stand. He arrived next to her, only slightly more in control than she had been; it seemed her efforts to unbalance him had been successful.

“Stay right where you are!” Meg shouted.

“What’re you gonna do if I don’t?” he sneered back as he scrambled upright, taking in the way Meg’s arm hung uselessly at her side.

“Stop you,” Meg told him, before she swung with her left fist and laid him out. He looked incredibly surprised before he passed out and sank partially into the ball-pit. “Nobody pushes me down a slide and gets away with it,” she told his unconscious form. Then she waded to the edge, and sat on the low wall to wait for the dizziness to recede, and Fraser and the police to finish up with their chases.

Fraser was, of course, the first of everyone else to turn up. Despite the concern that passed across his face when he saw Meg, he secured the man in the pit first before he made his way over to her. “Inspector?” He crouched in front of her, hands hovering just either side of her. “Inspector? What hurts?”

His eyes were looking for hers, searching for signs of concussion, and she met them while hiding as much of her wincing as she could. “Everything,” she sighed. “My arm is broken, I've sprained my ankle, and I’m bruised all over.”

The look of concern eased. “But you got your man,” he pointed out. “Rather thoroughly, I might add. His accomplices are being taken back to the station as we speak, which I think completes our evening rather nicely. Shall we get you to the hospital?”

“That might be a good idea,” she agreed, and let Fraser help her to her feet.

At the hospital, she was seen quickly, but even so did not expect Fraser to still be waiting for her when she left. There he was though, flicking through a magazine in the waiting room, on his feet in an instant when she hobbled in.

“What are you still doing here?” Meg asked. She sounded uncharitably irritated, she knew, a combination of aching everywhere, and guilt that she was the cause of Fraser having spent the last few hours in an uncomfortable chair.

Fraser took her tone in his stride. “Waiting for you, sir. Given your injuries, I anticipated that you might need help getting home.”

“I can manage just fine on my own, Fraser,” she snapped, drawing herself up as best she could with her arm in a cast and sling, and her ankle wrapped tightly. “I’m not incapable. In any case, you have duties at the consulate to attend to.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t capable, sir,” Fraser said, standing slightly more at attention than less. He did it not to match her, Meg knew, but to show deference. “I apologise if it came across that way. I know you don’t need my help, but seeing as I’m here, you might as well take advantage of me. Turnbull can manage at the consulate alone for one afternoon.”

In a few short sentences, Meg went from bristling resentment to yet more guilt at jumping to conclusions. She opened her mouth to apologise, but Fraser, meeting her gaze, shook his head. “It’s perfectly alright.” His smile was brief but genuine, and Meg took him at his word.

“I have painkillers to pick up,” Meg said.

Fraser’s response was to step closer and offer her his arm, which she took, and squeezed once in silent thanks for his understanding.

Back at Meg’s apartment, away from the stares of the taxi-driver and her neighbours, she felt the tension slip away with the closing of the door. Fraser, too, stopped maintaining quite such a professional demeanour; his arm slid around her waist as she hobbled to the sofa, support for which her sore ankle was extremely grateful, and he was reluctant to let go when she was seated.

“What is it?” Meg asked, looking up at his furrowed brow.

“Nothing.” He raised his eyes from where he’d been inspecting her sling. “It’s just difficult to believe you were that badly hurt from falling down a slide.”

He was worried, Meg realised. “Well, it was a three-storey drop,” she reminded him, which wasn’t the most reassuring thing she could have said. “And I didn’t fall, I was pushed, I’ll thank you to remember.” No, that wasn’t exactly going to do the job either.

Fraser though was apparently satisfied with her ability to reprimand him. “Right,” he said with a nod, and then stood with his hat in his hands, fidgeting. “I should -”

“You should put your hat down, hang your coat up, and make me a cup of tea.”

The request for help wasn’t all that much easier to voice for being phrased as an order. After a moment of barely-masked surprise though, Fraser nodded, put his hat on the coffee-table, and asked, “When was the last time you ate?”

Meg’s stomach rumbled. With a grimace, she replied, “Breakfast time.”

Fraser tilted his head towards the kitchen. “Do you have any objections to my looking to see what you’ve got in your cupboards?”

“Go ahead,” she said. As Fraser disappeared behind her into the kitchen, she called, “Oh, and Fraser? Make enough for yourself, as well.”

When Fraser came back a few minutes later with her cup of tea, he was down to his white undershirt and braces, somewhat out of place in her living room but not unwelcome. At the sight of him decidedly off-duty and in no hurry to go anywhere, Meg relaxed. She wasn’t going to have to convince him of his welcome, nor be required to fend for herself this evening, both of which her tired mind and aching body were in favour of.

By the time Fraser brought dinner in, Meg had slid half-way down the cushions and towards sleep. Whatever he’d made smelled delicious though, and she really was hungry, so she ignored her aching muscles and dragged herself upright. While she rubbed at her eyes with the one hand available to her, Fraser set the two bowls of food down and dragged the coffee-table carefully closer, considerately pretending not to notice that she'd nearly fallen asleep.

She just about managed to wait for Fraser to sit down before picking up her spoon and starting. It smelled just as good as it tasted, and she was sure that whatever he’d put in it certainly hadn’t been anything contained within her cupboards. When she said as much to Fraser, he told her it was just a case of extensive experience preparing meals from left-over tins. The glimpse of a pleased smile before he took another mouthful told her the compliment had not gone unnoticed though.

The meal was quiet, Meg both too tired and too hungry to talk, Fraser just going along with the silence. Afterwards he cleared away, while Meg leaned carefully back into a sofa that wasn’t quite as comfortable as it had been half an hour ago. The painkillers they’d given her at the hospital must have finally worn off; either that or she was just stiffening up from having been sat still for so long. Whatever it was, she felt like she hurt all over, and she couldn’t seem to find a position that didn’t spark protest from one body part of the other.

As soon as he came back into the room, Fraser noticed her discomfort. “Would you like me to fetch your painkillers?”

She shook her head, which made her neck twinge. “They make me feel...”

The right word didn’t make itself apparent, but Fraser seemed to understand anyway. Careful not to jostle her too much, he sat down again, and asked quietly, “What can I do?”

What she should do was tell him ‘nothing’ and send him home. He’d already done enough, given up more of what little free time he had than she had any right to expect. But he was sitting closer to her than he had all evening, and his shoulder looked so comfortable, and he _was_ offering.

“Stay?” Meg asked.

“Of course,” Fraser said quietly, and leaned backwards against the cushions. He stretched his arm out towards her, and Meg could see the caution in how he held himself, ready to move back at a moment’s notice should she give any indication that he was going too far. The minute she started to move closer though, he reached the rest of the way out, slipped his arm around her shoulders and curled his fingers oh-so-gently around the top of her broken arm, well above where the cast started. As she shuffled over, he balanced her, and pulled her carefully closer until she could turn her head towards him, rest her cheek against his soft shirt, soak up the warmth of his chest beneath.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

Meg nodded, wriggling just a little to get closer, and her body finally decided it had finally found something it could relax into. Fraser’s hand left her arm and came up to rest against the top of her head, waiting a moment for an objection that Meg was never going to give, before he started stroking her hair. Long, slow movements, big hand curving around the back of her head, and Meg felt her eyes drift shut even before he started talking. Words about places she’d never been, never seen, washed over her, through her, rumbling softly beneath her ear, settling beneath her skin to chase away the pain. 

This, she thought sleepily, this open, uncomplicated affection, had the potential to be far more dangerous than any kisses they had so far shared; but she couldn’t bring herself to care, lulled into sleep by his voice.

At some point later, she stirred reluctantly from sleep, drawn up by something she wasn’t conscious enough to place her finger on. It was only when Fraser murmured, “Shhh,” in the darkness, and tightened his arms around her, that she realised it was movement which had awoken her. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured. Meg turned her face into his neck, breathed him in, and did.

Meg allowed herself one day off for recovery before she went back into the office, prepared to deal with anything and everything, including reminding Fraser of what were and weren’t things they should allow themselves to remember. 

As it turned out though, all he said when he saw her was, “It’s good to see you looking better, sir.” There were many ways Meg could respond to that, but she limited herself to “Thank you, Fraser,” and hoped he understood all that she was thanking him for.

**3) Alternative Attire**

“He is _not_ going in there alone,” Meg told Welsh, planting her hands firmly on his desk as she glared at him.

Welsh stood up and leaned right in to meet her. “Believe me, Inspector, if I could send one of my guys in with him, I would. You see anyone out there look like they’d be willing to even set foot in the club?”

Meg had, in fact, not. What she had seen was everyone working very studiously on whatever paperwork they could get their hands on, including Francesca’s latest business application.

“Exactly,” Welsh said. “Anyone I send in is only going to blow Fraser’s cover. The minute anyone in that place senses a cop, they’ll clam up. They got no reason to trust us. Fact is we need this info, we need it fast, so we need to put someone in there who won’t raise suspicion and can gain their trust. As odd as it seems, Fraser is the one person most likely to fit right in.”

From behind her, Fraser spoke up for the first time since she’d entered the office. “If I might say something, sir?”

Meg turned around and gave her sternest look to Fraser, who it was lost on, as he was busy inspecting the placement of his wig in the mirror Ray was holding up for him.

“You can tell me exactly what you were thinking when you offered to do this,” Meg snapped at him.

Smoothing his hair down, Fraser thanked Ray, who retreated quickly to the corner rather than get caught in the middle of the oncoming argument. “I was thinking that I could help,” Fraser said, and Meg sighed, because he had that sincere, determined expression that said he wasn’t going to be dissuaded. There was something else, too, an odd set to his face that she couldn’t quite place, almost defensive, but working that out wasn’t her priority at the moment. “And I assure you, my attire in no way negates my ability to handle myself.”

Meg had been trying to avoid looking at his attire; ogling a subordinate wasn’t done, especially not in company. “I know,” she told him, and gave in to the temptation to look, just for a moment.

Although, really, more than a moment was required to fully appreciate how Fraser looked just then. Black tights smooth over long legs; a skirt that reached half-way down very shapely thighs, and clung in all the right places; a loose, sheer black top whose long sleeves floated over his bare forearms; below that a vest-top below which combined with the fabric above to hint at breasts Meg knew weren’t usually there, but which looked damn fine. His make-up had been applied with an expert hand - his, no doubt - and the overall effect was incredibly attractive.

“The problem,” she said, looking back up to meet Fraser’s eyes, “Is more that they’ll want to handle you.”

The odd look faded from his face, although Meg wasn’t quite sure what she’d said, and he shrugged. “All part of the job,” he said pragmatically.

Welsh’s voice broke in then. “Are you two done now? Inspector, do we have your permission to go ahead?”

“On one condition,” Meg said. “I’m with Detective Vecchio outside the club.”

“Fine with me,” Ray said from his corner. “Can we go now?”

Fraser’s smile as they left the office was for more than Meg’s permission, she knew, but that too would have to wait until later to work out.

It was past midnight when Fraser emerged from the club, heels clicking on the pavement as he walked over to the car. Meg hadn’t been truly worried about him, but all the same it was a relief when he slid into the back seat, already spilling out information as he shut the door.

“...so you should find him over there tomorrow afternoon,” Fraser finished.

“That’s great,” Ray told him. “That’s really great, Fraser. Welsh is gonna like, buy you flowers or something when we catch this guy.”

“If, Ray,” Fraser cautioned.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Look, I gotta head back and fill Welsh in. Can I drop you two at the consulate?”

Meg answered before Fraser could volunteer for yet more work. “That would be appreciated, Detective, thank you.”

When they got back, the consulate was understandably but oddly empty, quiet around them as the front door swung shut. Whilst it was not unusual for either of them to be around this late, it was distinctly out of the ordinary pattern of things for them to be coming _in_ at this time. 

Like being in school after-hours, the corridor looked the same but felt different, as if any of the rooms off it might contain something other than that which they held from nine to five. Despite the fact that she had done nothing more exciting than sit in the car all evening, Meg felt wide awake, alert, hyperaware of the bright lights above them, Fraser breathing beside her, the way he towered above her in his heels, the pounding of her own own heart as she stole glances at him. 

Almost nervous, was as close as she could describe how she was feeling; although Fraser was clearly feeling it more, doing an admirable job of keeping a blank expression but broadcasting it in the tension of his shoulders that he couldn’t hide as easily. He followed her into her office, silent, where she drew the curtains and turned on the corner-lamp in favour of the overhead light. 

When she turned around, Fraser had taken off his wig, and Meg drew in a sharp breath. In the dim light, his hair was darker than usual, and messy as it never was at work, strands falling across his forehead and refusing to stay in place when he tried to brush them back. The silver in his ears caught the orange of the lamp, and his eyeliner, perfect at the station, had been smudged somewhere along the line. Now it gave him soft shadows around his eyes, drawing her attention to his gaze, as intent on her as hers was on him.

One of them should say something. Meg wasn’t sure what, but it felt like something that shouldn't be said with her office door open, regardless of how empty the building was. So she walked across the room to close it, aware of Fraser turning to follow her, and then it was just the two of them alone in her office.

“This is a somewhat... _unconventional_ end to the evening,” she said, hoping Fraser’s thoughts were following the same lines hers were, hoping even more that he’d pick up on what she couldn’t ask.

It took him a moment, but then he got it. He swallowed, licked his lips, and breathed out suddenly. “Yes,” was all he said, and then stood in the middle of the room waiting for her, not so much nervous now as hungry.

As she walked towards him, he didn't stop watching her, seemingly so taken with whatever he saw that he didn’t realise Meg had no intention of stopping, until she closed her hands around his arms and pushed gently. Then his eyes went slightly wide, but he walked backwards until he bumped against the desk, hands closing in the front of Meg’s jacket to steady himself.

“Oh,” he said, then “Oh” again as Meg reached up to push her fingers into his hair, undoing whatever progress he might have made at smoothing it down earlier. When she closed her fingers and tugged, his eyes drifted half-shut, and he lowered his head obligingly so that it was more on a level with hers. Meg let her fingers slip from his hair, downwards to trace across his eyebrows, brushed her thumbs across his cheekbones, where she couldn’t tell how much of the blush was make-up and how much was just him.

“Meg,” Fraser said roughly, shivering as Meg stood on tiptoes to brush a feather-light kiss where his eyelashes just barely touched the skin below his eyes. “Meg, please-”

Then his hands came to close around Meg’s waist, and the next think Meg knew, Fraser had wriggled backwards to seat himself properly on her desk, and was lifting her up to join him.

For a minute, knelt on the desk with her legs either side of Fraser’s skirt-clad thighs, she was awash with sensation. Dizziness from the quick move; the press of strong hands against her back; hot skin and tight muscles beneath her palms, thin fabric between them, the quick rise and fall of Fraser’s body beneath her as they breathed too-fast in counterpoint. She tightened her thighs around his, to steady herself, to keep him there, and Fraser’s breath caught as hers had earlier. His lips parted, but words never came out, smothered as Meg leaned down to press their lips together in a kiss that was chaste only for a moment.

Now it was Meg’s turn to close her eyes, shiver when he pulled her shirt free from her trousers and slipped his fingers to rest low on her back, savour the way he relaxed into her as she pressed towards him, closer but not quite close enough. Deep and hard and long she kissed him, one hand slipping to the back of his head, drawing a low groan from him as she tilted his head for a better angle, and this -

This was nothing like the careful kisses of companionship they’d shared on the ledge those few months ago. This was desire and need, for touch, for each other, for this side of Fraser that was as much a part of him as flannel shirts and a red uniform. Meg wanted to carry on kissing him all night, get beneath his clothes, see what they would reveal and touch that, too, and have him return the gesture... But this was her desk, not the bed in her apartment, and they both had to work in the morning.

Fraser made a disappointed protest as Meg drew back, tried to follow her for just a moment before he regained a measure of control over himself, although he was still breathing just as hard as Meg was. For a moment they just looked at each other, fingers rubbing roughly against skin they had yet to part from, Meg’s heart pounding in her chest and Fraser’s pulse beating fast beneath her palm on his neck.

It was Fraser who spoke first, voice still slightly shaky as he admitted, “I wasn’t sure what you’d think of this.” Although neither his hands nor his eyes left Meg to indicate what ‘this’ was, Meg knew what he meant, and all of a sudden understood why he’d been so on-edge in Welsh’s office earlier.

“I think...” She stopped for a moment to gather her thoughts, and take in Fraser’s make-up, now thoroughly ruined. Bringing her hand up, she pressed her thumb against the crimson streak at the side of his mouth, and let her affection show in her voice. “Red suits you.”

A blink was Fraser’s response, and then he wrapped his arms around her with a soft laugh. “Thank you,” he said against her neck. 

They held each other for just a moment more before they removed themselves from Meg’s desk, and set it to rights for the following day, so that it and they fit in with the once-more familiar corridors.

**4) Loss of criminals due to Fraser**

After tracking the arms-dealers for two days and seventy miles, staking out their cabin for one morning, and chasing them through the forest to their boat, all that remained was to catch them. With Fraser around, that part was practically a given. The day that Fraser failed to overcome three-to-one odds was the day that -

“Fraser!”

-was the day that a strong push sent him tumbling into the water, to disappear beneath the surface while Meg watched with her heart in her throat, and the gang-members opened up the engine and sped away.

A few moments later, Fraser’s hat surfaced, followed shortly afterwards by the rest of him a few feet away. Even from the shore, Meg could see him measuring up the distance between himself and the rapidly-escaping boat.

“Constable Fraser!” she shouted across the water, breath steaming in the cold air. “Don’t you even think about it!” For perfect clarity, so that Fraser couldn’t claim to have misunderstood, she added, “Get yourself back over here at once.”

Reluctantly, Fraser swam over to retrieve his hat, and then made his way back to the shore to stand dripping in front of Meg. When she saw him, she was glad she’d insisted he return. The shock of the water and chill of the air around him was having a clear effect on even his well-accustomed body, and had him shaking in his sodden boots.

“Inspector, I really am sorry,” he began, water streaming from his hair down his face, not enough to hide an expression that was far beyond contrite.

“Now now,” Meg told him firmly. “We need to get you dry and warm; you can apologise afterwards.”

“Yes, sir.” Fraser nodded, and followed when Meg started for the cabin, looking resigned to his fate.

In truth, Meg was far less concerned with an an apology than she was with Fraser’s well-being. He grew slower and clumsier on the way back, whiter every time she looked over at him, his hunched shoulders and mass of sopping clothes doing nothing to protect him from the already sub-zero evening. By the time they closed the door behind them in the cabin, he looked as miserable as Meg had ever seen him.

“Can you get out of your clothes while I see if there’s anything left to get a fire going with?” Meg asked.

Fraser pulled his gloves off with his teeth, wiggled his fingers carefully, and then nodded. Keeping half an eye on him - his silence was disconcerting, and not a good thing in this case - Meg searched through the cupboards, which thankfully contained plenty of kindling and matches, as well as tins of food. With the stack of wood that lay by the fireplace, they should have enough to warm Fraser up and make it through the night.

Flames licked eagerly at the dry wood, and it didn’t take Meg long enough to get it established with enough large logs that it would burn for a while. Then she took her own coat off, draping it over the back of an empty chair before turning to face Fraser. His wet clothes lay in a pile next to him, save for his boxers, which were still clinging to his goosebump ridden skin.

“This is no time for modesty,” Meg said, but went to retrieve a blanket from a cupboard, holding it out without turning around. When Fraser took it, she found a towel in the stack, and waited for Fraser’s stuttered “I’m d-decent,” before she turned around again.

She shooed him closer to the fire, where he stood with the blanket clutched tightly around his shoulders, and an expression that had gone straight past contrite and firmly into ashamed.

“Bend your head,” Meg told him firmly.

He did, but even as Meg was towelling his hair dry, he started talking, doing his best to apologise despite his chattering teeth. “-and it was entirely m-my fault that they g-got away. I accept full responsibility, and will of c-course accept whatever punishment you see f-fit. It won’t happen again-”

“Fraser. _Ben_.” Meg rubbed the last of the moisture away, and waited for him to raise his head and meet her eyes. “It was not your fault,” she said clearly. He opened his mouth; Meg raised a hand until he shut it again. “There were three of them and only one of you, Fraser. I don’t care how often you usually overcome those sort of odds, you’re not going to succeed every time.”

“But-”

“Fraser, did you do your best to catch them?”

He looked offended that she’d even suggest otherwise. “Of c-course, sir.”

“Then you did your duty exactly as you should. I don’t expect perfection from you, Fraser. I expect you to give your utmost, which you have never failed to do, today’s events included. This was not your fault, I don’t blame you, and there will be no punishment. Do I make myself understood?”

She held his gaze until he ducked his head. Meg waited, and let him hide whatever he was feeling. When he raised it again, he didn’t look happy, but he didn’t look as if he was metaphorically beating himself over the head with the biggest tree in the forest either. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly.

“Good.” She handed him the towel. “Now, how about you dry yourself off and hang your clothes over the back of those chairs, while I make us some hot food?”

They ate huddled together on the rug in front of the fire, blowing on spoonfuls of tinned stew while Fraser’s clothes steamed around them. Afterwards, they drank hot chocolate, and by the time he’d reached the bottom of his mug, Fraser’s full-body shakes had eased to near-constant but far less intense shivers. In the quiet, he absent-mindedly turned the mug over in his hands, clearly thinking something over. Meg sat silently next to him, and waited for him to get whatever it was off his chest.

“I’m sincerely sorry for today’s events,” he said eventually, staring into the fire. “Before you say anything, I know it wasn’t my fault, at least not directly. I’d like to apologise anyway, though. We nearly had them, and now through my actions, they’ve got away, to do who-knows-what next.”

“I know you’re sorry, Fraser,” Meg sighed. “You wouldn’t be you otherwise. But think about what you _have_ done. You’ve put them on the defensive, rattled them; they’re more likely to make a mistake now, and someone else can pick them up.” She nudged her elbow against his. “It’ll do you good to let an actual police department solve a case for once.”

He glanced at her with something that was almost a smile, if only for a moment, and nodded. “You’re right, of course.” With that, his shoulders relaxed, and the blanket slipped down them a little, making him shiver. Yawning, he pulled it back up, and said, “It’s late. We should probably turn in.”

Their eyes met, and then went to the one small bed in the room.

“I’ll just, ah, see if any of my clothes are dry yet.”

There were plenty of big, thick blankets, so Meg piled those on the bed whilst Fraser decided that his boxers were dry enough to put back on, and looked mournfully at the remainder of his clothes.

“Get in before you freeze to the floor,” Meg told him, kicking her shoes off.

He hovered at the edge, and addressed Meg’s left ear while she pulled her jumper over her head. “Do you have a preference as to sides?”

Meg looked at the narrow cot. “There’s enough of it that we can quibble over sides?”

“Point taken.”

Fraser slid in and lay closest to the wall, tugging the covers over himself. Then Meg let her trousers drop to the floor and started on the buttons of her blouse, at which point Fraser’s eyes went very wide, then very closed.

“Ah... sir?” he asked in a slightly strangled voice. 

Meg considered that she could have warned him, but she’d thought it crueller to tell him this was coming than to just go ahead and do it. “I refuse to sleep in my clothes, Fraser,” she said, making it clear that there was no room for argument. “Besides which, don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re not as recovered from your swim as you’d like me to think. Skin-to-skin contact is the best way to keep you warm, as well you know.”

Fraser’s eyes opened so he could give her an almost disgruntled look, presumably at her perception. Meg slipped her blouse off her shoulders. “Just think of it as solidarity in partial nudity,” she said, as Fraser’s eyes snapped shut again.

As much as Meg knew Fraser was uncomfortable, she also knew he was no fool. When she joined him beneath the covers, he very carefully stayed exactly where he was, and barely even jumped when she shuffled backwards into him. His chest was cool against her back, and she could feel his heartbeat quick and fast, telling of his nervousness, despite the deep breaths he was taking.

Pulling the covers up and tucking them beneath her chin, she said, “You can open your eyes now, Fraser. And please, try to relax.”

There was a pause, and then he asked, “How did you know they were still closed?”

“Because I know you.” Too well, she sometimes thought, or at least better than it was wise for her to know a junior officer.

It took only a few minutes for Fraser to say, “Inspector -”

“Meg,” she interrupted. “We’re in bed together in only our underwear, Fraser. ‘Inspector’ is a little formal, don’t you think?”

“Or our situation is a lot less formal than it ought to be. I mean, is this really necessary? Or appropriate?”

“Any other arrangement would likely result in your hypothermia, so I would say that it’s entirely necessary. As for appropriate, we’re in the middle of nowhere, only you, me and the moths around to see us. I hardly think there’s anyone around to judge what is and is not suitable behaviour for this situation. I certainly have no intention of doing so, if that’s what you’re worried about. So I suggest that you relax, get comfortable, and go to sleep.”

After a moment of silence, she felt him move behind her, one quick adjustment to his position that had him pressed against her from the top of her shoulder blades all the way down to the back of her legs. He was cool against her, shuddering at the sudden warmth she offered. “Sorry,” he murmured when Meg shivered, too. “May I... my arm... it would be more comfortable if -”

“Stop dithering and get on with it, Fraser.”

Carefully, Fraser’s arm slid over her waist, his hand skittering away when it came into contact with the waistband of her underwear, then again at her bra, before finally settling cautiously just below her ribs. With a long breath out, he managed to loosen himself up to something resembling comfortable behind her. “Thank you. For your patience, I mean. I’m not accustomed to sleeping with other people.”

“You think I am?” Meg asked with a snort.

“Well, more so than I am. And the last person...” He stopped, as if he hadn’t meant to start that line of conversation. “Well, I expect you’ve read the file.”

“Everybody makes mistakes, Fraser.” If he expected her to judge him on his, he was mistaken. “I’m just sorry that yours resulted in you getting hurt so badly.” 

He obviously had no desire to say more; already he’d said more about his personal life in the last few minutes than since Meg had known him. So Meg steered the conversation away from his painful memories, and volunteered one of her own before she could think better of it.

“The last man I slept with turned out to be married.” Before Fraser could interject his sympathies, she told him the rest. “His wife found us in bed the next morning. She kicked him out onto the street, tossed his half of the bedroom out of the window after him, leant me some clean clothes and gave me a cup of tea.”

A quick huff behind her indicated Fraser’s brief amusement. “She sounds like a very sensible woman.” His thumb stroked gently across her stomach, an unconscious gesture of comfort. “Were you - I mean, I hope his actions didn’t hurt you too much.”

Meg had to close her eyes and take a moment before she replied. She’d expected nothing less from him, but Fraser’s lack of judgement, and simple concern for her feelings, brought a lump to her throat nonetheless.

“No,” she said, opening her eyes to stare at the low glow of the fire across the room. She closed her hand around Fraser’s, his fingers beneath hers now as warm against her as the rest of him was. “I’ve found much better things since then.”

After a moment, Fraser squeezed back. So low Meg almost hear it over the crackle of the logs and the wind outside, he murmured, “So have I.”

They laced their fingers together, and in the quiet between her thoughts and Fraser’s, Meg drifted off to sleep.

When she awoke, it was to find that she’d rolled over during the night, and now had her face tucked firmly into Fraser’s neck. Her hands were pressed between their bodies, while he had one hand at the back of her head to hold her gently there, and the other arm firm around her back. Between that, the covers which were pulled up around her ears, and Fraser’s now decidedly warm body against hers, she was far more snug than she had any right to expect.

“Good morning,” Fraser’s sleep-rough voice said above her.

His arms loosened as she drew back to blink at him, and she shivered as his hand slipped away, letting chilly air hit the back of her neck where her hair didn’t reach. In the grey light of dawn, Fraser’s face was soft but his eyes alert, following her movements as if he’d been doing so for some time.

“This isn’t morning,” Meg grumbled to distract herself before from the notion that he might have been watching her sleep, and that she might be the cause of the fondness in his expression. “This is some godawful hour when all sensible people - and foolhardy Mounties - should be sound asleep.”

“Well, as I’m usually up at his hour, I’m afraid I’ll find it difficult to go back to sleep. And you appear to be mostly awake now. What do you suggest we do?”

There was no way, Meg told herself as the tops of Fraser’s ears slowly reddened, that he meant that to sound as suggestive as if most definitely did. 

She stared at him, and he looked back, eyes flickering away but always returning determinedly to hers.

After a moment, Meg got herself together enough to speak. “Did you have something in mind?”

He breathed out slowly, and his gaze steadied. “One or two things,” he murmured, before he closed the few inches between them to brush their lips together. “Such as that, for example.”

“Excellent idea,” Meg said distractedly, busy working her hands free so she could wriggle one arm beneath his and wrap it around him in encouragement. “Carry on.”

“Gladly,” he said, and then his mouth was against hers again, limiting communication to the non-verbal that they managed so well.

Legs tangled together, they traded kisses, slow and gentle in the protective covering of blankets. Fraser wasn’t shy, just careful, big hands rubbing softly along her spine, never venturing below her waist, instead raising shivers on her skin and then soothing them away, until Meg was warm and boneless against him. He twitched at the light touch of Meg’s fingers to the hollow above his collarbone, pressed into her firm stroke down his chest, made a surprised sound when she rubbed her thumb across the strip of skin between his belly-button and his boxers.

“Sorry,” she said softly, sliding her hand upwards to rest against his chest again. Too far, for now, so she pressed a kiss against his jaw, his nose, found his mouth again, and they sank back down into long, deep caresses until their skin was humming, heads buzzing, fingers sensitive to every reaction they drew from each other.

Bright light across Fraser’s thoroughly mussed hair drew Meg’s attention, and she drew back reluctantly. “The sun’s up,” she said, while her palms stayed pressed firmly against his shoulders, and she watched the play of muscles there for a moment before she looked up at him. “Even I have to concede that it’s morning now.”

For one more moment, Fraser’s fingers toyed with the strands of hair over her ear. Then he pulled them back and nodded, closing eyes which were only half-open to start with. When he opened them again, only the barest hints of his earlier pleasure remained. “We should start back,” he agreed.

With a sigh, Meg rolled away, out of the nest of blankets and into the chill of the room. It was a sudden separation, but necessary.

“Ah... Inspector?”

Meg turned around to see Fraser holding the covers around him, eyeing his clothes across the room.

“Could you possibly pass me my uniform?”

Rolling her eyes, Meg retrieved it, and tried to sound annoyed as she said, “You and your modesty, Fraser.” It came out more fond than anything though, so she threw his clothes at his head to make the point.

“I’ll work on it, sir,” was Fraser’s muffled answer, before he disappeared beneath the blankets to dress himself. Back to him, Meg pulled on her own clothes, and finished just as Fraser emerged almost as immaculate as usual. At least, she reflected as they looked at each other for just a second too long, they were both still capable of maintaining their working relationship as before.

“Shall we?” Fraser asked, standing upright and straight, back to professional once again.

The problem was, she wasn’t sure that a working relationship was the most important thing to either of them anymore.

“Let’s,” she replied, and led them out into the woods again.

**5) Romance on a Mountie sailing ship**

As they were sailing back, the sun setting properly this time, Meg came onto the deck, and found Fraser leaning against the railing with Ray at his side. In keeping with the strange atmosphere on-board, their eyes met at once, and Ray slipped away when he saw them staring at each other across the width of the ship. 

They were nowhere near the shore yet; there was still time, Meg thought, an hour or so where they could pretend they had no responsibilities, nothing and no-one to consider except themselves.

Even as she considered it, though, she knew they couldn’t. It was foolish for them to have indulged earlier, when they’d been on-duty even if it didn’t feel like it, blurring the lines and putting everything at risk. They’d got away with it, but to do so again would be an even bigger mistake.

The sad smile on Fraser’s face told her that he knew it, too. He ducked his head for a moment, and when he raised it again, there was a resigned determination to him that drew the warmth from the balmy evening around them. His steps towards her were measured, posture rigid, and he stopped just over an arm’s length away from her. Only the slight unsteadiness in his hands at his sides gave away that this was as difficult for him as it was for her.

“We can't,” he said. Then he shook his head, at himself, and met her eyes as he amended “ _I_ can't. I care for you, deeply, but it would be dishonest of me to pretend that I could be satisfied with the occasional instances of physical and emotional affection we allow ourselves. Which is not to say that I don't enjoy them – I do, very much so, in fact – but...”

He swallowed then, voice rough, and looked away for a moment. When he looked back, his eyes were wet. Meg wished more than anything that she wasn’t the cause of his tears.

It took her a moment to compose herself enough to give him a reply, one that she did not want to voice, and Fraser did not want to hear.

“And it would be dishonest of me to pretend that I'm in a position to give you more than that,” she said, even though she wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold Fraser until he'd lost that almost broken-hearted expression. He’d given her an explanation, though, and she owed him one in return. “I have a responsibility to do my job, and a responsibility to you, too. It’s up to me to make sure that both of us are in a position to carry out our duties without complication. And I have to make sure that you’re safe, too. Neither of those can be compromised by anything I do. By anything that might be between us.”

“I know,” Fraser said. “I wish-”

He cut himself off, looking slightly pained, but not surprised, that he'd been about to voice something which would place the importance of their personal feelings above that of their jobs.

“So do I,” Meg told him quietly. If nothing else, she could at least reassure him that he wasn’t alone in his thinking that.

Fraser nodded. “I should go,” he said, and for once didn’t wait for permission before he started to turn away. 

“Fraser,” Meg called.

Hat halfway to his head, Fraser stopped and looked back at her.

“I don't know if this helps or not,” Meg said, “But I care for you, too. Deeply.”

Fraser considered it for a moment. “It doesn't,” he decided. Then he raised his hat the rest of the way to his head, and walked away.

This time, Meg let him go. 

“Understood,” she murmured, and turned the other way, screwing her eyes up against the half-blinding light of the setting sun. As long as she looked at it, she could pretend that the tears in her eyes were nothing to do with Fraser. Maybe, too, it would burn out the memory of the look on Fraser's face just before he'd pulled the brim of his hat over it.

Perhaps by the time it set, Meg would have convinced herself that doing the right thing was, in fact, the right thing.

 

**6) A Very Conventional Solution**

Later, Meg would wonder why she took so long to work out how to solve the problem. As it was, it took weeks of she and Fraser being far too careful around each other, settling back into some semblance of normality that had something missing from their previous ease and banter, before Meg worked out what she should do. Then she spent two more days ironing out the wrinkles, a morning debating the best way to bring the idea to Fraser’s attention, and a lunch break damping down her nerves. 

“Come in,” Fraser called at her knock on his door. When she stepped in, he put down his paperwork and stood. “Inspector. What can I do for you?”

Meg swallowed, pressed her hands against her skirt to steady them, and took a deep breath. She could do this, dammit. She was a Mountie, and so was Fraser. Overcoming challenges was second nature to them. Just because there was a tendency for Mounties to fall apart at the first hint of something involving emotions did not mean that the two of them couldn’t manage to buck the trend.

“Fraser. Will you marry me?”

Fraser blinked and tilted his head to one side. On the floor next to his desk, Diefenbaker did the same.

“Could you repeat that, please, sir?” Fraser said carefully. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

Now that she’d got it out once, Meg’s nerves receded to a more acceptable level. Taking a step forwards, she repeated, “Benton Fraser, will you marry me?”

Slowly, Fraser came around his desk, hands extended partially in front of him as if he was preparing to soothe a skittish animal. “Inspector, are you alright?”

“I’m perfectly fine, Fraser, thank you for asking,” she replied. Other than a slight irritation that she had yet to get a reaction other than disbelief, but she was prepared to let that go.

“You haven’t received a knock on the head recently? Or been drinking, perhaps?”

“During working hours? Most certainly not!”

The hint of outrage in her voice seemed to convince him, and his hands dropped to his sides. He looked at her. “You’re being serious?”

“I am.”

“Give me a moment,” he said faintly, and leaned back against his desk, staring blankly above Meg’s head.

The few metres between them seemed too much to Meg, but possibly weren’t enough for Fraser, so she stayed where she was and resisted the urge to help him get himself together.

After a few moments, he lowered his head, and focussed his gaze on her again. “Inspector - Meg - we can’t get married. Our personal feelings aside, the fact remains that you are my superior officer, and regulations forbid any sort of romantic relationship between us.”

Once the rush of relief at Fraser’s admission of continued personal feelings had passed, Meg gathered her thoughts and addressed his concerns. “That won’t always be the case. As much as I enjoy working here, there are positions in Toronto that would allow me to carry on using my skills to make more of a difference, and that offer much better prospects for promotion. As for you, I believe I’m correct in thinking that you do not intend to stay in Chicago for the remainder of your career?”

“It’s doubtful,” Fraser confirmed. “I do miss home. But... you and I call very different parts of Canada ‘home’. I’m not sure either of us would be entirely happy living in each other’s territory, if you will.”

There was doubt in his voice, but the shock had faded, and he’d taken a step away from his desk. Unconvinced, but not objecting, and Meg had spent the last two days thinking about this.

“Fraser, if you took a position with a detachment in, say, the Yukon, and I lived up there with you, how often would I actually see you?”

She saw the second he worked out where she was going with this, watched hope chase away doubt, saw his expression sharpen as he started to work out the details. “Once every few months,” he said.

“So I might as well be in Toronto doing my job, while you’re up to your armpits in snow doing yours,” she said, daring to tease slightly now, drawing a brief flicker of a smile from him. “I know they have phones up there, so you can call when you’re near one, and when you’re done with your cases, you can come and spend some time in a place with hot water and electricity.”

“We have both of those things in the north,” Fraser protested, but he was smiling properly now. “What about holidays? And time off?”

“Alternate Christmases,” Meg said promptly. “As long as you promise not to let me freeze to death when we’re at yours, that is. And I know you’re not overly fond of big cities, but you do enjoy company, which you’ll find plenty of in Toronto. As for time off... I thought we could work that out together.”

Now only a few steps away, Fraser looked at her with a somewhat stunned expression. Meg’s nerves returned full-force, wondering if she’d pushed too far, too fast.

“You don’t have to answer now,” she said quickly. “Take as long as you need to think about it. And of course you can say no if-”

“No,” Fraser said immediately. Then he reached out a panicked hand towards Meg. “That is, no, I don’t need any time to think about it. You seem to have worked everything out.” Meg forgave him for making her heart stop, because he was so obviously and adorably flustered. “Would you... ask me again? Please?”

“Third time lucky,” Meg muttered. Closing the remaining space between them, she took the hand that Fraser still had extended. “Fraser, will you please marry me?”

“Yes,” Fraser said at once, lacing fingers together, as if he thought she might take it back. He took a measured breath. “Yes,” he said again, more firmly. “Yes, Meg, I will marry you.”

“Good,” Meg said.

Then they looked at each other, and took a few deep breaths.

“Did we...” Fraser began. Then he shook his head, made a visible effort to concentrate, and started again. “Did we just get engaged?”

“I think so,” Meg said. She was aware that she was gripping Fraser’s hand rather tightly, but it was about the only thing stopping her wobbling with relief at the moment. Not that Fraser looked much steadier than Meg was feeling. “Although I haven’t got you a ring yet,” she pointed out, focussing on the practical.

“A Mountie’s word is good enough for me,” Fraser assured her. Their grips on each other eased a little. “Now what?” Fraser asked.

From Fraser’s closet, a slightly muffled voice called out, “Now you kiss her, son.”

Diefenbaker barked in what sounded like agreement. Meg looked over Fraser’s shoulder at the closet door, then back at Fraser, and waited for an explanation. Fraser closed his eyes, and called back, “Mind your own business, Dad. Preferably somewhere that isn’t here.”

“That’s no way to speak to your father,” Bob Fraser muttered as he made his way out of the closet and over to the door, picking up Fraser’s hat from the rack on the way. “Welcome to the family,” he told Meg on his way out. “Do try to teach Ben some manners, won’t you?”

“I’ll... do my best,” Meg promised, and watched him leave the room. Looking back at Fraser, who still had his eyes closed, she asked. “Fraser?”

Fraser opened his eyes. “Yes, Meg?”

Momentarily distracted by his use of her name, Meg nevertheless refused to let this one go. “Was that...”

“My father? Yes.”

“Did he just...”

“Appear from my closet, steal my hat, make a nuisance of himself, and leave? Yes.”

“Isn’t he...”

“Dead? Yes. Unfortunately, he’s not yet departed.” Fraser sighed. “He’s been living in my closet for the last year or so; before that, he just turned up wherever he felt like. Normally he's not visible to you; I apologise sincerely that our engagement seems to have changed this state of affairs.”

Meg considered things for a moment. As ghosts went, he’d seemed relatively harmless. “As long as he doesn’t set up a summer home in my office, I’ll manage,” she decided.

“I’ll have words with him,” Fraser promised. “In the meantime, do you mind if I take his advice?”

“Advice?” Fraser slipped his arm around her. “Oh. That advice. Please, do.”

Their ghost-recommended, post-engagement, very pleasant embrace was shortly interrupted by Turnbull, who burst in with, “Inspector, there’s a phone call for - oh my goodness, what are you doing?! You can’t take advantage of Constable Fraser like that, sir, I won’t allow it! Hold on, sir, I’ll get her off you!”

“It’s alright, Turnbull,” Meg said hurriedly, turning around and stepping away from Fraser as Turnbull rushed towards them, armed with a stack of rolled-up files. “We’re engaged.”

Wide-eyed, Turnbull skidded to a halt. “Is this true?” he asked Fraser.

“Perfectly true, I’m pleased to say,” Fraser assured Turnbull from behind Meg. “The Inspector proposed just moments ago, which is why you find us acting so inappropriately. Please accept our sincere apologies-”

“Oh, no, no!” Turnbull clapped his hands together. “This is excellent news! Oh, but me without my whisk. For the cake,” he explained at their blank looks. “It can take months to perfect a wedding cake. I shall start practising at once, if you’ll excuse me.”

It took another few minutes to finally shoo Turnbull away, after he returned to shake Meg’s hand, kiss Fraser’s cheek, and offer them both his congratulations, and then came back yet again to remind them that sexual relations of any kind were not allowed during working hours.

“Dief,” Fraser said, when Turnbull had finally left. “Keep him busy.”

Meg would swear that Dief grinned before licking her hand and running out of the door, which Fraser shut behind him.

“Let’s hope Turnbull doesn’t get it into his head to make the wedding dress, too,” Meg remarked.

Fraser crossed back over to her. “For you, or for me?” he asked, straight-faced but with a mischievous glint in his eyes that Meg hoped to see a lot more often.

“I will be wearing a pretty dress at my wedding,” Meg told him firmly, then leaned in to kiss him softly. “What you wear is up to you.”

Resting his forehead against hers, Fraser wrapped his arms tightly around her, and murmured, “What did I do to deserve you?”

“I think you have that backwards,” she replied, rubbing her hands down his back, holding him close. They shared a smile before Fraser kissed her, negating the question of who deserved who. What was important now was that they had each other, and a promise for forever in a relationship that was as unorthodox as everything else in their lives.


End file.
